With the Rank and File by Thomas J Ford

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Title: With the Rank and File

Author: Thomas J. Ford

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THOS. J. FORD,

Sergeant Company H. Twenty-fourth Wisconsin Infantry.

WITH THE RANK AND FILE.

INCIDENTS AND ANECDOTES DURING THE WAR OF THE

REBELLION, AS REMEMBERED BY ONE

OF THE NON-COMMISSIONED

OFFICERS.

BY THOMAS J. FORD,

Sergeant Company H, Twenty-Fourth Wisconsin Infantry.

1898.

Press of the Evening Wisconsin Co.,

Milwaukee.

Copyright, 1898,

by

Thos. J. Ford.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

INCIDENTS AND ANECDOTES
5

ON THE BATTLEFIELD
32

PULPIT AND PRESS
61

THAT LEXINGTON IMPUDENCE
70

SHOULD EDUCATION BE COMPULSORY
77

WASHINGTON AND LINCOLN
82

AS TO PENSIONS
87

DEPARTURE OF THOMAS J. FORD
91

COMMENDED BY HIS SUPERIORS
93

INTRODUCTORY.

My Dear Reader: Among the many publications which the late war has drawn forth, I present you with something

which you have never read, nor which has ever been in print, until the issue of this little book. The sketches contained
herein have been carefully revised and made as brief as possible, with the object of bringing before you the privations
and hardships of the rank and file. A few of the amusing incidents of life in the army are also chronicled, as they
occurred in Camp, on the March, or on the Battlefield. Papers on compulsory education, the pulpit and the press, farm
life, and one on the merits of America's two grandest men (George Washington and Abraham Lincoln) will also be
found herein.

Thomas J. Ford.

Milwaukee, May, 1898.

INCIDENTS AND ANECDOTES.

Sketches of Army Life from the Viewpoint of a Non-Commissioned Officer During the Rebellion.

An Address Delivered at E. B. Wolcott Post, G. A. R., Hall, Milwaukee, Wis., November 19, 1897, by Thomas J. Ford.

Commander and Comrades: The history of the late war is generally known by the whole civilized world; but the

history of each private individual in that conflict is known much less by others than by myself.

In presenting to you a few sketches of the many incidents and privations of my army life, you must not expect me, in

my humble rank as private, corporal and sergeant, to give you as broad a view of the army in which I served as other
men of higher rank and station can give you. My duty was with my company and its immediate surroundings, as others
in the same rank and file.

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The Twenty-fourth Wisconsin Regiment was organized in August, 1862, and on the 8th of October following were

engaged in the Battle of Perryville, Kentucky. Just before starting for the battlefield that morning (I had not been feeling
very well for a week past) I went to Dr. Hasse, our regimental surgeon, and told him about it.

"Well," he said, "Ford, I don't know what to do for you. All the medicine is packed away but that five-gallon can of

castor oil there. Just set it on the top of that stump and take a swallow of it."

I did so. "And now," he said, "I will give you an order to have your luggage carried in the wagon." I packed up

everything that I could get along without, which left nothing on my person but my red shirt, pants, shoes and cap. We
got into battle sooner than was expected. As we were in the reserve line of battle waiting for orders the rebel bullets
were dropping thick and fast around us, for they were preparing to charge on one of our batteries. A brigade orderly
rode up to Col. Larrabee, of our regiment, the Twenty-fourth Wisconsin, and said, "Colonel, the General wants you to
march your regiment to the left of that battery and hold it at all hazards; the rebels are about to charge on it."

The Colonel was somewhat hard of hearing. He placed his hand to his ear and said, "What's that, sir?"
The order was repeated. The Colonel answered, "I will, by God, sir;" and called the regiment to attention. We

marched to the left of that battery in double-quick time. The size and appearance of the Twenty-fourth Wisconsin
swinging into line with ten hundred and twenty-four men and firing a few volleys of musketry at them checked the
advancing foe and the battery was saved. I was in the front rank in my company with no coat on and the only red shirt
visible in the regiment. The order was given to fall back about twenty paces to the rear. We were too far out near the
crest of the hill looking down on the cornfield where the rebels were, but I did not fall back. I was so interested loading
and firing at the rebels down in that cornfield that I did not hear the command to cease firing or to fall back. The
regiment was ready to fire in its new position, but the command was not given until the red-shirted man fell back into
line. The Colonel was calling for me. He sent Adjutant McArthur out in front after me, at the same time calling aloud,
"You man with the red shirt, fall back."

I knew that meant me, so I looked around and saw Adjutant McArthur galloping to the front and the regiment was

back in the rear. Too quick did I about face and double-quick to my place in the front rank of my company. That night
I lay on the ground with nothing between me and the blue sky but my shirt, pants, shoes and cap.

Another incident. Just before the Battle of Stone River I received a box of fine cut chewing and smoking tobacco

from an uncle of mine in Milwaukee. We got orders that night to get ready for the march in the morning. I did not know
what to do with my big box of tobacco, containing eleven dollars' worth, done up in Milwaukee. A rare thing to get—
Milwaukee tobacco. Some of the company boys helped me to do it up in packages from fifty cents' worth to a dollar
and a half size packages, and we went around and sold all the tobacco in an hour's time to officers and privates alike,
but got very little money, the regiment not being paid yet, so we had to trust until pay day. We got into the fight,
however, at daybreak, one gray, frosty morning, after lying on our arms all night, and our fingers were all benumbed
with the cold and frost. As for myself, I can say that I had to place my finger on the trigger of the gun with my left hand
before I could bring it up to an aim. The rebels came down on us, colors flying and in solid column, shouting and
hollering as if certain and sure of victory. We fell back before them. They crowded us into a cedar woods, where there
was nothing but cedar trees and rocks, and it seemed as if all the birds and rabbits in that large field were looking for
protection around our feet. So thick and fast did the rebels send their shot and shell after us that you might think it
impossible for a bird to escape them. The rebels had us surrounded for a while. You could see the rebel officers and
orderlies galloping on their horses in the near distance, urging their men on to make a complete capture, but we got out
of that battle all right, as history fully explains. When we were in the thickest of this fight an incident took place about
that tobacco I sold on time. A comrade of mine, James Mangan, formerly a school teacher in the Town of Franklin (and
I was a pupil at his school myself), came near me and said, "Thomas, this is terrible. It seems impossible for any of us to
escape being killed by those shells and bullets, if they continue this way much longer." (At the same time I noticed one
of the boys that I sold some tobacco to, on time, drop.)

"Yes," said I. "But what will I do now for the price of my tobacco? Most of those are killed that I sold it to, and I will

never be paid."

"To the devil with you and your tobacco," said he, "if that is what you are thinking of now, in place of your soul."
We went into that battlefield early in the afternoon, without anything to eat; lay on our arms all night in line of battle in

the immediate front of the enemy and fought all the next day without anything to eat or drink. Our supply train was cut
off. General Rosecrans had a large pile of forage corn near his headquarters. The boys commenced stealing it for food.
There was a strong guard placed around it, and an order issued to give each man one ear of corn as far as it went until
supplies would arrive. In dealing out the corn the plan was to put one ear of corn into each empty hand as it reached
out. Some got two ears of corn by placing the first behind their back and thrusting forth the other empty hand. The pile
of corn did not supply one-hundredth part of the vast numbers clustered around it. We ate the ear of corn, and that was
all we had to eat at that time.

Closing this incident of the Battle of Stone River, I might as well remark right here that my father and his three sons

were in the War of the Rebellion from 1861-1865, and the first he knew of two of his sons being in the war and in the
Twenty-fourth Wisconsin was after the Battle of Stone River. He took part in the same battle with Captain Bridges'
battery. Father came to see Col. Larrabee of the Twenty-fourth Wisconsin with a view of getting his two sons, Daniel
and Thomas, transferred to Bridges' battery, so that we could be together with him. He told the Colonel about it, and
the Colonel said he would not allow it to be done; they were two good boys and he was going to keep them.

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"But they are my boys," said the old man, "and I want them with me."
"They are not your boys, by God, sir," said the Colonel; "they are my boys, and I am going to keep them; you cannot

have them."

The other son was in the Twenty-fourth Massachusetts Regiment, and at the Battle of Fredericksburg was shot

through the heart while planting the Stars and Stripes on the rebels' breastworks. The color-bearer being shot down, he
picked up the flag and both he and the flag lay on the rebels' breastworks, our side being repulsed.

There was a general order one time that our boys should not steal anything in a certain part of the country where we

were located during Col. Larrabee's command over the regiment. The General ordered the Colonel that he should
punish those two men that were caught as an example for the rest. I heard the Colonel pronounce the sentence in these
words, as I was standing guard near his tent, "Now, boys, I have to punish you. I am so ordered by the General. I want
you both to understand that I am not punishing you for stealing, but for getting caught at it, by God." This seemed to be
a common byword of the Colonel.

General Rousseau had command of our division for a short time near a place in Tennessee that we addressed our

letters from as Camp Starvation, near Cowan's Station. The citizens were nearly all loyal to the Union cause. It was a
rough, stony and hilly country. They seemed to have only a few sheep for their meat. The General ordered that the men
should not kill any of those sheep. Shortly after we broke ranks of course some went off foraging, as usual. They killed
a sheep and dressed it and had it on their shoulders coming back to camp when they met the General and his staff out
reconnoitering.

"Halt those men there," said the General to one of his orderlies, "and place them under arrest. Take that mutton up to

my headquarters and have it cooked for supper." He released the men on the promise that they would not do it again.
Next day about the same time the same four boys went out again. They knew where there was a large, fat
Newfoundland dog. They killed him, cut off his head and legs, skinned and dressed him up nicely in the shape of a
mutton. They met the General nearly in the same place as the day before.

"What, those same men disobeying my orders again? Place those men under arrest and report their commanding

officer. Orderly, take that mutton to headquarters and tell the cook to hurry up with it for supper." They ate that mutton
for supper, and all declared it sweeter and better mutton than the one eaten the night before.

Everyone in camp knew what had happened. We had those little dog tents at that time. The General and staff came

galloping down our company streets the next morning, when every soldier, as if with one accord, thrust his head out of
the little tents and commenced barking like so many dogs. The horses commenced prancing; the General's hat fell off;
he stuck the spurs into his horse's side, and galloped off to Col. Larrabee's tent, just in front of him.

"I say, Colonel, what does this mean, your men barking at me like so many dogs?"
"Well, I don't know, General," said the Colonel, "unless you have some dog in you."
The General scratched his head and said, "Out-generaled by my own men. That is the last damned 'order' I will ever

issue in this camp."

Col. Larrabee was a good man, but he seemed to get tired of the war after a certain time when he did not receive a

brigadier-generalship, which he was entitled to by seniority. We were taking a rest one day under the shade of some
trees waiting for orders, lying down full length, taking the best advantage of the precious moments given us, when the
Colonel raised himself up to a sitting position and said, "Boys, I brought the Twenty-fourth Wisconsin Regiment into the
field ten hundred and twenty-four men strong. Now I have but three hundred and sixty men, a regiment that I can take
anywhere and feel proud of them; a regiment that every man of them knows as much if not more than I do myself."

The orders came to fall in, and right here the curtain drops on Col. Larrabee. I have never heard of or seen him

since. It is true that a great many different men had their turn in commanding the Twenty-fourth Wisconsin Regiment,
and it is also true that they were all good men, viz., West, Kennedy, Bombach, Parsons, and last of all that young and
brave boy, Col. McArthur, whose gallantry at the Battle of Franklin I shall never forget. The rebels had driven our men
out of the breastworks that we were relieved from about an hour or so before in order to cook some refreshments, for
we were on advance guard duty about 48 hours and were bothered so much with rebel cavalry that we did not have
much time to rest or eat. Marching into Franklin we were closely followed up, in the rear of our army, by rebel General
Hood's infantry. We stacked arms, after being "relieved," a quarter of a mile, I should think, from those breastworks.
Our coffee was just beginning to boil and our sow-belly and crackers frying, when the rebels charged those
breastworks and drove our men out, and followed them up. They came through our stacked arms and over our fires,
upsetting our coffee pots and frying pans, with the rebels right at their heels and at our stacked arms as soon as we
were. Every one of us was as mad as he could be after losing his nearly cooked dinner, and we felt as if we could whip
the whole rebel army just at that moment, when Col. McArthur called out, "Fall in, Twenty-fourth; take arms. Charge.
Give um hell, boys. Give um hell, give um hell, Twenty-fourth." We did "give um hell," and drove them back over the
breastworks again. When he got the run on them we commenced shooting as they were jumping back again over the
breastworks, and they'd holler out, "Don't shoot, Yanks. For God Almighty's sake, don't shoot." Then some of them
would get hit and cry out, "Oh."

We got the breastworks and held them against several attempts to take them from us, until darkness came and

everything was still. About 2 o'clock in the morning, under cover of darkness, after the supply train and everything was
across the river, we stole away out of those breastworks without making any noise, crossed the river, burned the bridge

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and were safe on our journey to Nashville, where ended the last of our battle of the war.

Right here I will mention a little incident that happened at one of the rebel attempts to take those breastworks from us

at the Battle of Franklin. Capt. Fillbrooks, of Company D, a very brave man, noticed one of his men dodging or
ducking his head from the noise of the rebel bullets. "Mike," said the Captain, "quit dodging your head there. Stand up
to it and take it like a man." The word was no sooner out of the Captain's mouth when a bullet hit him in the middle of
the forehead and laid him out dead. Mike said to him. "Why the devil in hell don't you stand up and take it like a man."
And the word wasn't out of Mike's mouth when he got a scalp wound on the right side of his forehead. "Holy Moses,"
said he, "there is nothing like the dodging after all. Every time I heard it before I dodged it and it never hit me."

The day before the Franklin battle we got into a brush with the rebel cavalry at a place called Spring Hill. The sun

was settling down in the west. They had been picking at us all day, so they prepared for a charge. We could see the sun
glisten on their swords as they drew sabers. They were on the east of us and charged across that plain with a seeming
determination to play great havoc in our ranks. But the old First Brigade let them come near enough to give them one
volley of musketry and then came to a charge against cavalry, the front-rank men standing firmly placed in proper
position all with fixed bayonets. Here they come hollering like demons, carbines empty, sabers drawn over their heads
ready to come down with a cut and slash, but they couldn't do it. Every man stood firm. The Twenty-fourth was in the
front of the brigade, facing the enemy. They tried to force their horses to open a gap, but it was impregnable. They
withdrew in disorder. We lay down and our batteries played havoc with those rebel cavalry. You could see a rebel's
head falling off his horse on one side and his body on the other, and the horse running and nickering and looking for its
rider. Others you could see fall off with their foot caught in the stirrup and the horse dragging and trampling them, dead
or alive. Others, the horse would get shot and the rider tumble head over heels, or may be get caught by his horse falling
on them. I used to think before that cavalry charge what a terrible thing it would be to get into a battle with cavalry and
imagine how they could cut and slash and shoot at us and trample us down with their horses; but I thought different after
that experience with the rebel cavalry. Why, it is the greatest fun imaginable in time of war for a solid column of infantry
prepared for the attack to have a cavalry charge on them. The horses won't do it for the rider, and the rider can do
nothing with a body of solid infantry.

There was a little incident that happened before the Battle of Chickamauga in a place we called the Devil's Basin, in

Georgia. We had fifty rebel officers and soldiers as prisoners. There was one rebel captain who was continually cursing
and abusing Abe Lincoln and the Stars and Stripes. I was sergeant of the guard in charge of the prisoners. The officer
of the day gave me orders to have that kind of language stopped if I had to do it with the point of the bayonet. I put a
new guard on, a man that I knew would stop it. After a while this rebel captain thought he would make the acquaintance
of the new guard, and asked him what countryman he was. The guard replied with great emphasis, "My father is an
Irishman, and my mother is a Dutch woman; the damnedist breed that ever lived; and if you don't keep your mouth shut
I'll run this bayonet right through you," at the same time going right for the rebel captain. The next day we let the rebel
officers go and withdrew from the Devil's Basin towards Chickamauga. Our line was too long and weak, a great
mistake of General Rosecrans. We were double-quicked into the Battle of Chickamauga on the morning of September
20, 1863, and filled a gap that was wide open right in front of a large body of rebel soldiers that was lying on the
ground waiting for orders to go, as it appeared to me, when General Little, our brave Brigadier-General, led us up
within plain sight of them. General Little was wounded slightly in the arm. The rebels peppered it into us, as our brave
Henry G. Rogers can tell you. Little moved his line back, which I think was wrong, for it encouraged the rebels and they
came right for us. Just when the new line was formed General Sheridan rode by in a gallop down the right of the line. In
passing the Twenty-fourth Wisconsin he said a word to General Little and went on. A limb of a tree brushed off his hat,
but he did not stop. One of his orderlies dismounted and made several attempts before he replaced the hat on
Sheridan's head, Sheridan paying no attention whatever to the hat business, as it appeared to me. The rebs came for us
in our new line. The firing commenced. Our brigade, General Little, was right behind our colors. I was between him and
the colors. Oh, how the boys did load and fire. I saw rebels crawling on their hands and knees through the underbrush
to get the Twenty-fourth Wisconsin flag. They never got the flag, neither did they ever go back. A man in my company
was firing high. I drew his attention to the fact, and ordered him to aim low.

"Sergeant," said he, "I have a son in the rebel army, and I imagine he is forninst me out and I don't want to shoot

him."

"Well, then, aim low," said I, "and shoot the son of a gun right in the heart." Strange to say the son deserted the rebels

and ate supper with his father that night.

So determined and persistent was the fight in our part of the line, I heard a voice behind me saying, "Sergeant, what

regiment is this?"

I looked around and saw General Little, and said, "This is the Twenty-fourth Wisconsin, General."
He commenced falling off his horse and said, "Brave boys, brave boys."
Those were the last words he ever spoke. He had his hand on the pone of his saddle, and as he was falling his hat fell

off, his long auburn hair hung down, and he seemed to hang on to that saddle with his right hand until he was nearly to
the ground. It is a sight I will never forget. I then looked to our left, and saw the rebels in our rear. The troops on our
left had left us and we also left. As we were retreating in pretty good time, one of our boys was just in front of me,
making the best time he could, and I keeping right up with him, when he was hit and killed. He fell across my track and
I fell on top of him. I thought we were both shot with the same bullet. I got up again all right and lit out. You could see

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the rebels and you could hear the bullets plainer because there was but one side shooting. The bullets went zip, zip, into
the leaves on the ground and around your ears as thick as bees.

We got down to the turnpike road. General Rosecrans and other generals were there, and tried to have us halt and

form a line and charge the rebels back. Rosecrans said, "The rebels are defeated and are retreating at another part of
the line, and if you could have held them here five minutes longer the battle would be ours." Some stood and listened,
and three times as many went on.

The general took off his hat and said, "Boys, form a line here; there are enough of us to whip those rebels. We have

them on the run in another part of the field. If you won't do it for my sake, do it for God's sake and for your country's
sake." That brought a great many to halt and ready in line when a rebel solid shot, about a fifteen-pounder, came along
and took off the right hand of one of the generals and part of the saddle he was resting on. That was seen too quick.
Some one started, and away we went until we found ourselves near a gap leading into Ringgold.

General Sheridan took command of everything he could find. We got through the gap and into Chattanooga, and we

were not long there before every man was three feet under ground with a breastwork against the enemy. We thought
they would be right on to us, but they were too glad to take a rest and too glad to get rid of us, for they were nearly as
badly whipped as we were.

This reminds me of the story of the Irishman and the Georgian who met and fought until both laid down along side of

each other, completely exhausted. The Irishman threw his hand over on the Georgian's face and got him by the throat,
but the Georgian got the Irishman's thumb in his mouth. They both held their grip and were found in that position and
taken to the hospital. The Irishman got better first, but with his hand in a sling on account of his wounded thumb. He
went to see the Georgian, and at first sight greeted him with, "Give me your hand, be jabers, you're nearly as good a
man as meself."

So we went to see the rebels at Mission Ridge, and reminded them of Chickamauga, and I'll tell you how we did it.

The rebels had us hemmed in in the Valley of Chattanooga for two months and five days, as near as I can recollect, with
railroad and river communication cut off. Our line was sixteen miles long, the shape of a horseshoe, with the hind calking
resting on the river. We were subjugated to quarter rations, not knowing how long a time we might be held inside of that
circle. We would draw our quarter rations and eat them up right away, not having drawn for four days before, and take
chances on foraging or gobbling or in any way that we could pick up anything to eat. At first we had candles and had
some light. We ran out of candles, and we used grease in a tin can with a rag, a piece of an old shirt, or anything that
would answer the purpose of a wick, to make light. After a while we ran out of grease. So whatever was left of the
grease and wick in the old tin cans was thrown away and we did without light. After a while, when hunger began to
pinch me very severely, I hunted up the old tin can that belonged to my messmates and myself, and I found it with
considerable grease in it, mixed with some flies and the old rag wick. I ate them all and relished them very much at the
time, but did not have very much appetite for my next quarter ration. I will say right here that if every soldier inside that
line was asked to volunteer to drive the rebels off Mission Ridge there would be but one answer, and that would be, "I
will go, let me go." Such was the feeling of the troops hemmed in in the Valley of Chattanooga. Every man was healthy
and hungry, could run a race or turn a somersault. General Grant noticed that when he ordered a general review; that is
what it turned out to be, but the order was not given in that shape. The order was, "Be ready to march tomorrow, at
such an hour, in light marching order." We went out in the valley right at the edge of the timber near Orchard Knob and
had a fine general review. General Bragg commenced concentrating his troops. He thought the Yankees were coming.
A widow woman, at whose house he had his headquarters, asked him if he didn't think it better for her to move her
family away from there to Ringgold. He said, "No, there were not Yankees enough in all Christendom to take that
ridge."

When the review was over Grant ordered each commander to march his command to camp. The next week Grant

had that same review over again. It annoyed Bragg as before. Review over with, we marched to camp again. The next
week we got orders to get ready for the march to-morrow morning, heavy marching order, with eighty rounds of
ammunition. Every man knew what that meant. Everybody knew we were going to take that ridge, or at least make the
attempt, but the rebel General Bragg said it was nothing but that damned Yankee review again. The orders came from
Grant after he had his lines all arranged, that when six cannons were fired in succession, 1-2-3-4-5-6, the whole line
was to advance and take the first line of rebel breastworks. There is no doubt in my mind but that Grant thought that
sufficiently far enough to go; with Hooker on Lookout Mountain; our communications opened up; with boatloads and
carloads of supplies arriving, the rebels would not be very likely to hang onto Mission Ridge any very great length of
time. We (the first brigade of Sheridan's division) were near those cannons, however, that gave the order to advance,
and we went clear up to the top of the Ridge. We were after something to eat, and we got it, too. All the generals in the
Union army could not stop us if they tried to after we got started up that Ridge. I remember in crossing the first line of
trenches some of our boys fired into the trenches, and I made the remark that it was cowardly, but we went on, on and
up. The color-bearer of Company C, with the colors, myself and Nelson of Company H were the first men upon that
Ridge in the line of our brigade. The first thing I did after the rebels skedaddled was to grab a full haversack and jerk it
off a wounded rebel captain's neck. He was shot in the shoulder and his hand lay on the mouth of the haversack on the
down-hill side. I opened it and divided its contents with my comrades in the immediate vicinity. It was saturated with the
rebel captain's blood, but we ate it all the same.

Mission Ridge was ours. The rebels were running down the other side of the Ridge and we shouted "Chickamauga,

Chickamauga." The sun was just going down, beautiful and bright. It was a splendid sight to witness. In a short time

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General Sheridan made his appearance. At sight of the General, the boys clustered around him and commenced
cheering that gallant commander. Some shouted for hard-tack, some for sow-belly and some for beef, while others
shouted for whisky.

The General raised his hat off his head until silence prevailed, and said, "Boys, in less than two hours' time you will

have all the hard-tack, all the sow-belly and all the beef you want; as for the whisky I can't say yet for sure."

And in less than that time the boats and railroad cars were unloaded without any detail being made for that purpose.

There were sixteen hundred head of cattle driven up on that Ridge, and in an hour's time they were in the frying pan.
You could see men as far as the eye could reach, several lines of them, with boxes of crackers on their shoulders.
Sheridan made his word good, with the exception of the whisky. He advised with the surgeon-general, and he said, "No
whisky, General. Your men will eat enough, and perhaps too much, without whisky;" and true enough, some died eating
that night. You might wake up any time in the night and see men cooking and eating. A great many of us flung our
blankets away coming up the Ridge. When it was time to lie down I went back to the battlefield for a blanket. The
moon was full and shining bright. I found nothing to suit till I came to a rebel Colonel who had a fine, large, gray
overcoat with large cape and trimmed with gold braid. I rolled him over and took it off; took it to camp under my arm
thinking, "Now I will have something fine and warm to put about me;" but, alas! when I got nicely settled down for sleep
I could not sleep. The thoughts of lying under that rebel overcoat and taking it off him in that lonely battlefield, overcame
me. The way he appeared to me in the bright light of the moon made me think that I was robbing my dead enemy, when
he was helpless to defend himself, and no witness to the action but the sweet silver moon. My heart filled with emotion
and I got up and took it back and laid it over him, then returned to my company and lay down under a part of my
comrade's blanket, and immediately went to sleep with a full ration in my stomach.

So ended the Battle of Mission Ridge, and the boys all felt happy. And let me say right here that those few sketches

of mine are not dreams, nor misty recollections of the past. It is not a play that you might read of in your parlor, or see
acted on the stage with fine sceneries and blue and red lights; but it is a living actuality—a play that we all had a hand in
ourselves with a pure and manly motive—to save our country and protect our country's flag.

ON THE BATTLEFIELD.

From Chickamauga to the Close of the War—Wounded at Adairsville, Ga.—Nourished by a Union Woman.

An Address Delivered at E. B. Wolcott Post, G. A. R., Hall, Milwaukee, Wis., by Thomas J. Ford, March 11th, 1898.

Commander and Comrades: Those pages that I have here to-night are a continuation of the past, and take in all my

recollections in brief; and, in giving you those few more sketches of the incidents and privations of my army life, I will tell
you, in my humble way, of an incident that happened shortly after we were driven into Chattanooga. After the Battle of
Chickamauga, so many men were told off from each regiment to build up Fort Wood, detailed for fatigue duty. We
worked hard that day. An order came around when the day's work was done that General Sheridan was going to give
us all a ration of whisky. We fell in in two ranks, with our tin cups, in double-quick time. The whisky came around in
buckets, full. It was measured out with a small tin cup emptied into our larger ones. I got my ration and drank it. My
brother Daniel was standing in the rear of me. He never drank liquor nor used tobacco. The commissary man ordered
him to put out his cup and take his ration. Brother told him he didn't drink any and didn't want any. I turned around
quick, and said, "Draw your ration, Dan, and give it to me." He did so, and I was very much pleased to get it. The boys
in the line looked over each other's shoulders to see me drink the double ration of whisky, and one said to the other,
"My God, I wish I had a brother in the army that didn't drink."

At a place called Buzzard Roost, perhaps better known in history as Rocky Face, the rebels were protected by

natural breastworks and could not be driven away from in front. After several attempts a movement was made on their
flank by General Kilpatrick's cavalry. The rebels soon discovered the movement and left from our front. At the time that
General Howard was viewing through his field glass, Kilpatrick's cavalry were speeding to the rebels' right around by
the valley road. He felt something touch him, and looking down he saw a bullet hole through his boot leg, which
evidently had been aimed at him by some one in a much higher location than where he was standing, and, turning his
glasses in that direction, he discovered a rebel up in a tree. Seeing the movements up there through the leaves, Howard
sent after a couple of his sharpshooters. They took in the situation. Mr. Rebel kept very still, thinking perhaps he might
not be discovered, but our boys got a bead on him. They let go their sharpshooting rifles. There was an "Oh!" and a
scrambling and a shaking of the leaves and branches, and finally down comes the rebel's gun and next himself. Upon
examination it was found that he had tied his arm with his handkerchief to a limb of the tree so as to steady himself while
he was taking aim. The handkerchief became loose in the struggle, but remained around his arm as he fell.

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As we advanced through those natural breastworks of rocks some of our men that were killed were lying just at the

opposite side of the rock from the rebels and were stripped of their clothing. When we were advancing on this rocky
mountain the rebs pried loose a great many of those large rocks and started them rolling down on us, but we went up
another direction, and marched about a week, picketing and skirmishing until the rebels made a stand at Resaca, which
was a very hard fight. We advanced in line of battle to within a short distance of the rebels' breastworks, where we
halted. There were two cedar rail fences, ten rails high with a stake and rider, right alongside of each other. It was
evident that the owners of the land disputed the boundaries, or would not join fences with each other, consequently
each one built and maintained his own fence on his own land, just inside the line. We took advantage of that piece of
contrariness, however, and soon pulled down both fences and piled them up into one. They made us a fine breastwork.
We were in close quarters to the rebels; we could see them plainly and they could see us. I remember in the part of the
breastwork where I was we had a thin cedar rail on top. Two rebel bullets struck that rail and went through it and
dropped down just as I raised my head from it to fire—a very close call for me. It was very wet weather. The ground
was uneven and rough, all mud and slush. When firing ceased at night some of us lay down to sleep, while others stayed
on duty in the breastworks. I rolled two dead comrades together where I wanted to lie down and another who was not
quite dead was rolled crossways over their heads for a pillow. I slept very comfortably, with the exception of being
disturbed once in a while from a hiccough or movement of muscles or peculiar noises coming from my pillow. On the
right of us the battlefield took fire and burned a great many of our men, dead or wounded, that were lying there. It was
a piece of open land where the grass was very thick the year before, and was neither pastured nor cut off.

A few days previous to going into this fight we went through a very plentiful country. We halted for camp one

evening. Some from every command, the same as usual, struck off foraging. They commenced coming in after a while
with hams and chickens. I remember by brother Dan and myself asked some one about the hams, and they said you
might as well have one, they will be all gone anyway. And so we struck out and soon found the smoke-house. I made a
rush in. There was just one shoulder left. I grabbed it, and in going by the house the woman was standing at the door
crying, and said that was the last piece of meat, and what would she and her children do now. Brother Dan and I
agreed to give it to her. She put it under her bed. We went to camp empty-handed; had plenty to eat of government
rations and felt and slept better than if we had taken the meat from the widow.

We had a hard march the next day. When we camped that evening my feet were very painful, with scalding blisters,

and as I was very tired I went down to a stream near by, took off shoes and socks, rolled my pants above my knees,
sat down on the bank of the stream and placed my feet in the cool, running water. Oh, but it did feel refreshing. I lay
down on my back with my feet in that position, placed my hands under my head and fell asleep; was in that position
until the cool of the morning began to break on me. I woke up much refreshed and no pain or soreness in my feet.

I remember in marching through Huntsville, Alabama, about 11 o'clock A. M., our band struck up the tune of "Away

Down South in Dixie." The regiment was at a right shoulder shift arms, with fixed bayonets. The sergeants walked on
the sidewalks, marching right in front, every man keeping perfect step. A woman was sitting on her door step with her
elbows on her knees, and holding a pan of potatoes in her hands that she had just strained the water from preparatory
to putting them on the fire to cook for dinner. I noticed they were a different kind of potato from what I had ever seen,
and politely asked her, "Please, madam, what do you call those potatoes?"

She made answer in a very sarcastic manner, saying, "I don't call them at all; they come without calling." The next

sergeant to me, Charles Powers by name, a big, able fellow about six feet two inches in height, raised his right foot, and
never losing his step to the music, hit the pan a kick, and pan and potatoes flew out on the street on top of the regiment,
at the same time saying, "Now, damn you, see if they'll come without calling." The regiment charged on the potatoes and
came to right shoulder arms again with a potato on top of their bayonets, and not one potato was lost. We marched into
camp and cooked them, and Charley said to me, "Ford, you are a hell of a man to let that rebel talk to you in that way."

"Well, how could I prevent her talking? I didn't know what she was going to say; but I'll tell you, Charley, I am

mighty glad I didn't get that kick."

We were going into camp one evening, and in passing by a farm-house our Chaplain noticed a lot of nice chickens.

He called his servant—Sandy was his name for short. "Sandy, here is a quarter, go over there to that house and buy a
chicken; we will have a chicken for supper. If they don't want to sell you any of their chickens don't you gobble any;
don't you steal any of their chickens, Sandy."

The Chaplain rode away a short distance and called after Sandy, saying, "Now, Sandy, be sure and have a chicken

for supper." It is needless to say Sandy got the chicken and the quarter, too.

This Chaplain resigned. The marching and camping out were too severe on his delicate constitution. He was not a

very rugged man. Our next chaplain was a drafted man, a wealthy farmer, one of the first men that had the
thoroughbred short-horn cattle imported to this state from England. He created an influence over James T. Lewis, then
Governor of Wisconsin, and received from the Governor a commission as Chaplain of the Twenty-fourth Wisconsin.
The boys did not appreciate this drafted man as a chaplain, but rather took it as an offense to have a drafted man sent
down South to preach to them when he should have been sent with a musket. I will say right here that this man did no
more good for the Twenty-fourth Wisconsin than Billy Bray, the jackass who to this day stands on the list of drafted
men as forming one of the quota of Maryland. The boys became determined to rout him by scaring him and making him
think that they might do him bodily harm. We had a flag pole. We hoisted the flag every day and took it down at night.
One morning the Chaplain got up after a very pleasant night's sleep, as he told me when he came to my tent, seemingly
under great excitement, telling me that there were burglars in his tent last night, and he never knew it until he awoke in

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the morning, and found his chair, his table, little writing desk and sheet iron heating stove, pipe and all, had been taken
from his tent. Being intimately acquainted with me, having known me since I was a little boy, he asked me if I would go
with him in search of his stolen furniture. I did. We went up and down every company street, waking them up and
inquiring as we went along, but to no avail. No information whatever could we get of the stolen furniture. We gave up
the search and came back by regimental headquarters. In passing by the flag pole—it was early in the morning and the
flag hadn't been hoisted yet—I happened to look up, and lo! what was there?

"My God, Chaplain, look. What's on top of that pole? Look at your furniture up there."
He looked up and cried out in solemn and fervent prayer, with hands extended upwards, "Thanks be to God on high

that it ain't myself that is hanging up there this morning."

There were no arrests made. The Chaplain sent in his resignation. It was accepted.
This Chaplain introduced prayer meeting in Company D's tent one night. We had fire-places in the tents, with

chimneys built of mud and sticks on the outside. You could reach your hand to the top of the chimney from the ground.
John Mahan was stretched on his bunk; Andy O'Neil had one leg of his pants off, sewing a rip; he had a very long
thread in the needle. The Chaplain knelt down close by Andy and asked Mahan if he would not join in prayer. Mahan
said he was tired and wanted rest.

"And don't you want me to pray for you?" asked the Chaplain.
"Oh, yes, pray for me all you have a mind to," said Mahan.
The Chaplain prayed. Each time O'Neil put a stitch in his pants, in drawing the thread its full length brought his hand

in close proximity to the Chaplain's face. He was seemingly very much interested in repairing his trousers.

The Chaplain asked, "Now, Andy, don't you feel the spirit of God coming within you?"
"No," said Andy, drawing his thread its full length with his hand against the Chaplain's face, "and I don't think it will

come while the devil is so close to me." At the same time the boys outside dropped two or three bunches of cartridges
down the chimney into the fire inside. R-r-r-r-rapp-zip-zip-zip, went the cartridges like a volley of musketry. The
Chaplain sprang from his knees, made a rush for the door and then outside, saying, "Sure enough, I believe the devil is
in that tent."

We drove the Confederate General Anderson across the river at a place called Loudon, Tennessee. He burnt the

bridge after his troops and supplies had crossed it. The picket lines of both armies were stationed on both sides of the
river. An armistice was agreed upon. Firing ceased, so the boys might go in bathing. Every day we would swim out
further, and so would the rebels. We came pretty close together one day, so close that we dashed water into each
other's faces and ducked one another under the water, and about faced and swam to shore, when a big rebel dived
under the water and came up in our ranks and swam to shore with us. He was taken to General Sheridan's
headquarters, naked as he was born. They clothed him and sent him to New York, the only chance he said he ever had
to get away. Being down South before the war he was held and forced into the rebel ranks; but that stopped the
bathing in the river. The armistice was withdrawn. If you would show your face after that you would hear a bullet
whistle.

Captain Parsons had charge of the Twenty-fourth Wisconsin at this place. An order came from headquarters for a

sergeant to take charge of a detail of men to be sent out in the country with a foraging train of wagons, mules and
drivers and wagon master to gather in all the wheat from the farmers' granaries and haul it to a grist mill that General
Sheridan had confiscated to grind flour for his army. The order fell on me, because it was my turn to go on detail. I
reported at Sheridan's headquarters, and he himself gave me instructions what to do. My detail of men was soon ready,
and we started with our wagons and wagon master out to the mill, and the next day commenced hauling in the wheat. I
was very much interested in that business, having been raised on a farm. With some of the farmers we had a great deal
of trouble to get them to open their granaries peaceably, especially those who were rebels. We ground forty barrels a
day. It was a water-power mill. Every night I was offered greenback money for flour, but never took a cent. They
would tell sorrowful stories about their little children starving. I would tell them that their little children were of no
consequence when compared with the condition of thirty thousand men stationed in Loudon waiting for this flour. "Go
and see Sheridan; he may give you some." The owner of the mill was in the mill office in the daytime when the wheat
was brought in. I signed the vouchers for the number of bushels of wheat weighed and ground into flour, and that, with
the supplies we had, furnished plenty of food. Every farmer that we took wheat from had the miller's signature and mine
attached to his order on General Sheridan, and if he proved his loyalty to the Union he got spot cash, or its equivalent,
for his wheat. My work being over, I received an order one morning to report at Sheridan's headquarters. We got into
camp in the afternoon and formed a line in front of the General's tent. I found him inside and reported. He said, "You
have done very well, sergeant; you deserve a promotion. Have your men break ranks right where they are and go to
your respective quarters." I did not think any more about it. I simply was glad that I pleased the General and did my
duty. In returning to the regiment I found Col. MacArthur in command. I learned that Capt. Parsons would not give up
his command of the regiment to MacArthur until he got orders to do so from General Sheridan, which were promptly
given.

Liquor was plenty around Loudon, but at very high prices. One man paid $10 for a canteen full. He became

disorderly and wanted to shoot somebody. He was court-martialed and sent to Dry Tortugas. I learned afterwards that
he was pardoned and came home. The bridge across the river that the rebels burned was rebuilt by government

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employes with the assistance of the pioneer corps, and we crossed to the opposite side on another campaign. Our
regimental bakers at this place turned out several loaves of bread with an old chew of tobacco in the center of the loaf.

From Resaca we followed up the rebel General, Johnston, and came very close to his rear guard at a place called

Calhoun, Georgia. We crowded them very closely. The next day Johnston had his advanced troops stop at Adairsville
and build breastworks of logs and earth, and located themselves in the houses, while the main army passed through and
formed ready for battle. We followed them right up, but we suddenly came to a halt. They were ready for us. Johnston
managed his retreat with good generalship from Resaca. We could not budge them. We marched across the road into a
field by the right flank, right in front, towards the rebels' left, when Col. MacArthur gave the command "By the left flank,
charge." When I was in the act of executing the command I got a broadsider in the left jaw bone. The bullet struck me
in the lower angle of the jaw, breaking the bone a...